Blush for Me

by Kristen Proby

  Dedication

  This one is for Lori. There’s no one else I’d rather talk to every day.

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Epilogue

  Song

  Announcement

  An Excerpt from Easy Magic

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  About the Author

  Praise for the Fusion Series

  Also by Kristen Proby

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Chapter One

  ~Kat~

  “So, it was just a kiss,” Riley, my best friend, says from the driver’s seat next to me. “And it wasn’t a particularly good one at that.”

  “Dump him now,” I reply with a gusty breath, wringing my hands in my lap. “If he’s a shitty kisser, it only goes downhill from there. Trust me on this.”

  “But the conversation was good . . .”

  Sweet Jesus.

  “Seriously. If there’s no spark, move on. The spark is out there somewhere.”

  “You’re right.” She sighs and takes the exit off the freeway, following the signs to PDX. “How are you doing?” She glances at me and frowns. “You’re sweaty.”

  “Am not,” I reply. Yes, I am. So damn sweaty.

  “When was the last time you flew?” Riley asks.

  “I’ve never flown,” I reply, and squirm in my seat. Why doesn’t it take longer to get to the damn airport?

  “Seriously?” She changes lanes, and there it is. The airport. Straight ahead. “I know you hate it, but I had no idea that you’ve never flown.”

  Fucking hell.

  “I’ve told you, I don’t fly.”

  “It’s only a two-hour flight, at the most, down there.”

  “Two hours too long,” I mutter, and take a deep breath. Shit, I’m going to pass out. I can’t see. I can’t hear anything.

  “Open your eyes,” Riley says with a laugh. “I’ve never seen you like this.”

  “I’ll be okay.” It’s only the five millionth time I’ve said that this morning. “I don’t really have to go to this conference, do I? I mean, I have plenty of friends who will be there and they can tell me all about it when it’s done.”

  “You need to go, Kat,” Riley says. “You’ll learn a lot, and meet new people, and get to tour vineyards and drink wine that you love.”

  “I can do that in Washington, and drive there.”

  “You’re not a wimp,” Riley says as she pulls up to the departures. “You’ve got this. You have plenty of time to stop by a bar once you’re through security to have a drink to calm your nerves.”

  “You’re not coming with me?” I stare at Riley in shock.

  “You know I’m not coming to Napa Valley with you.”

  “No, to the gate.”

  Riley laughs and I want to smack her in the head with my handbag.

  “No, Kat. We haven’t been allowed to do that since 9/11.”

  “See? One more reason that I shouldn’t go.”

  “Get out of my car.” Riley climbs out of the car to retrieve my suitcase for me.

  “I’ve never known you to be this mean.”

  “You’re going to have a great time.” She hugs me close. “There are lots of signs and people to ask if you get lost in there, but it’s not a big airport, so you should be fine. Call me when you get there.”

  “If I get there,” I say, and sigh deeply. “Why do I feel like I’m never going to see you again?”

  “Because you’re being dramatic,” she replies, and smiles brightly. “Have fun!”

  And with that, she waves and drives away and I’m left alone to figure out this airport hell.

  But Riley was right. Checking in and retrieving my luggage. Finding security is easy.

  Getting frisked by the TSA guy would have been more fun if he’d looked like Charlie Hunnam, but then again, everything would be more fun with Charlie.

  I follow the signs, find my gate, and am pleasantly surprised to find a bar directly across from it.

  There is a God.

  But once at the bar, I’m just too nervous to drink.

  That’s a first.

  Who in the hell gets too nervous to drink? This girl, apparently.

  So I wander back to the gate and pace, dragging my small black hard-sided suitcase with red cherries on it behind me. People glance my way, but I ignore them. I’m used to it. You don’t dress the way I do, covered in sleeve tattoos, and not get looks.

  Finally, my flight is called and they begin boarding. Before I know it, I’m sitting on the plane, three rows from the front—if I’m going to die, it’s going to be in first class—in the aisle seat.

  “Hello,” the man next to me says. I glance his way, taking in his light brown hair and green eyes, and if we were anywhere but here, I would totally flirt with him.

  But we’re on a motherfucking airplane.

  “Hi,” I reply, and swallow hard. The flight attendant asks us if we’d like anything to drink before we take off, but I shake my head no and stare at the pilot sitting in the cockpit. “Don’t they close that door?”

  “Right before we take off,” my travel companion says. I’m surprised that I spoke aloud. “Hey, are you okay?”

  “Fine.”

  He’s silent for a moment and I keep staring at the pilot. I want to march up there and tell him to make sure that we get there in once piece. What are his credentials, anyway? I want to see his license, and a few letters of recommendation wouldn’t hurt either.

  “I’m Mac.” I slide my eyes to him and nod, then whip my gaze back to the front.

  “Kat.”

  “Have you flown before, Kat?”

  “No.” I swallow hard and tighten my hands into fists.

  “Okay, take a deep breath,” he says. He’s not touching me, which is good because I’d have to break his nose, and this is already stressful enough. But his voice is soothing. “Good. Take another one. Miss, can we get a bottle of water, please?”

  I just keep breathing. The flight attendant returns with a little baby bottle of water, which Mac uncaps and holds out for me.

  “Take a drink of this. Just a small sip.” I comply, the cold water feeling good in my throat. I feel ridiculous. This flight is full of people who are not having panic attacks.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “This is my biggest fear.”

  “I can tell,” he says gently, and I raise my gaze to meet his. He’s a handsome guy, his short hair styled nicely, his jaw firm, eyes direct. He’s tall, with long arms and legs and a lean body. “How are you feeling?”

  “Better,” I reply, surprised to find it true. “The water helped. Thank you.”

  “No problem. Are you going to Napa Valley on vacation?”

  “Work,” I reply, shaking my head. “I’m attending a conference.”

  “So you’re a wine enthusiast, then?”

  “You could say that,” I reply with a smile. “I own a wine bar in Portland.”

  His eyes narrow for just a moment. “Really? Which one?”

  “The one ins
ide Seduction.”

  “I’ve heard great things about that place.”

  I smile widely now, intensely proud of the restaurant that my four friends and I have built from the ground up. Seduction is our baby, our pride and joy.

  “That’s nice to hear,” I reply. “You’ve never been?”

  “Not yet, but I’ll make a point to go the next time I’m in the area.”

  So he doesn’t live in Portland.

  Bummer. Mac is one guy I wouldn’t mind running into again.

  But before I can give this much more thought, the door of the plane is locked and they’re announcing the flight time and showing me how to use my seat belt—really, is not knowing how to fasten a seat belt a thing?—and use the oxygen mask if I should need it.

  Please, God, don’t let me need it.

  The door between me and the pilot is closed, and the plane pulls away from the gate.

  And I think I’m going to throw up.

  “If you need to get sick,” Mac says, seemingly reading my mind, “there’s a bag here.”

  “I’m not going to get sick.”

  I hope.

  “I like your tattoos,” he says.

  “Thanks.”

  The plane drives for what feels like forever, passing other planes and gates.

  “Are we driving there? I had no idea this was a road trip. I would have brought some chips.” I sigh deeply and rub my forehead, which is disgustingly sticky with sweat.

  “We’re taxiing to the runway,” Mac says. “If you need to grab my hand, I don’t mind.”

  “Are you hitting on me?” I ask, turning to him now, and finding him smiling widely at me, his green eyes lit with humor.

  “No. I’m offering my hand if you’re afraid.”

  “But you’re not hitting on me.”

  Damn.

  “Not unless you want me to.” His lips twitch as his eyes lower to my lips, and I wish with all my might that we were in my bar rather than in this plane so I could flirt back and enjoy him a bit.

  “I don’t want to die,” I whisper, and lick my lips.

  “You’re not going to die, Kat.” His eyes grow serious now. He blinks once, his jaw firms, and he takes my hand. “You’re not going to die.”

  “Okay.”

  I nod and sit back in my seat, but then suddenly the plane turns a corner and picks up speed, racing down the runway.

  Oh. My. God.

  It lifts up off the ground, and we’re soaring in the air, and I’m going to pass out.

  “Deep breaths.” Mac’s voice is in my ear. I comply, taking a deep breath, letting it out, then taking another one. “No passing out on me.”

  “Are you psychic?” I ask breathlessly.

  “No, you’re turning blue.” I can hear the smile in his voice, but I’m not brave enough to open my eyes to look at him. “If you could let up just a bit on my hand, I’d appreciate it.”

  I immediately let go of his hand and open my eyes. He’s shaking his hand, as if I’d just almost taken it off, and I shake my head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t even realize I was holding it so tightly.”

  “I think I’ll have blood flow back in my fingers by next week,” he replies with a smile. He sees me glance to the window and immediately closes it so I can’t see the ground moving farther away. “If you don’t look outside, it just feels like we’re on a train.”

  “No, this doesn’t feel like a train.”

  “Tell me about your tattoos.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m trying to distract you from being scared,” he says, and shifts in his seat. A bell dings, catching my attention. “That’s just how the pilot communicates with the flight attendants.”

  “Like Morse code?”

  “Something like that,” he replies. “So tell me about your tattoos.”

  “No.”

  I shake my head and clench my hands in my lap.

  “Why not?”

  “Tattoos are personal, and I don’t know you.”

  “You held my hand,” he says, and then laughs when I toss him a glare. “Okay, no personal stuff. What are we supposed to talk about, then?”

  “I don’t think we’re supposed to talk.”

  “Sweetheart, I think that if we don’t talk, you’ll make yourself crazy with reliving every Lost episode you ever saw.”

  “I wasn’t even thinking about that until now!”

  “Where did you go to high school?”

  “I was homeschooled,” I reply. “Graduated at sixteen, then went to college. Now I run a bar. That’s pretty much it.”

  “I think there’s probably more to you than that, but okay.”

  “Why is the flight attendant walking around? Shouldn’t she have her seat belt on?”

  “She’s going to serve us refreshments,” he says. “She’s used to this. Trust me.”

  I don’t know why I trust him, but I do. He’s nice. I also don’t know why I’m on this freaking plane. This was a very bad idea.

  “Damn them for dangling a sexcation in my face.”

  “Excuse me?” Mac grins, but I just shake my head.

  “Nothing.”

  “What can I get you to drink?” the flight attendant asks, and sets a napkin on the armrest between Mac and me.

  “More water, please,” I reply, proud of myself for having enough wits about me to answer her question. She delivers the water, and a snack, and I sit back, relieved to find that Mac’s right: it really does feel like a loud train ride.

  “You’re doing great,” he says a few minutes later as he munches on a bag of chips. “How do you feel?”

  “Better,” I reply. “I don’t love it, but I think I’m going to survive it.”

  “Good.”

  Just as I’m beginning to think that I’m a pro at this flying gig, the plane starts to shake and dip. The pilot comes over the speakers and tells us all to buckle up and the flight attendants to return to their seats.

  And I look at Mac in blind panic.

  “It’s just rough air,” he says gently.

  “Seriously? We have to fly through rough air on my first flight?”

  “I’m quite sure it’s a conspiracy,” Mac replies, his face dead sober. “We should write a letter to our congressman.”

  “Shut up,” I snap, and wince when the plane shakes some more. The flight attendants hurry to stow their carts and get in their belts, and for the rest of the remaining hour to California, we are restricted to our seats while the plane takes us on the ride of terror.

  “I’m sweating again,” I mutter, and wipe my forehead with the back of my hand.

  “Here,” Mac says, and passes me the napkin from under his drink. “It’s cold.”

  “Thanks.” It feels good on my head. I shudder to think what my makeup must look like, but then again, I don’t give a shit. If we die in this tin can, it won’t matter what my makeup looks like.

  “We’re not going to die,” Mac says.

  “Stop reading my mind,” I reply.

  “You said it out loud,” he says with a laugh. “I’m sorry this flight is so bumpy. It isn’t usually this bad.”

  “I need to get on the ground.” I turn to him and grip his hand tightly. “I can’t do this anymore. I need to be on the ground.”

  “Okay, sweetheart, take another deep breath.”

  I do, and turn away, but he pulls me back to look him in the eyes. “No, you stay with me. Deep breaths. Listen to my voice.”

  “You have a good voice.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Are you a doctor?”

  “No.” He grins and drags his knuckle down my cheek. If I wasn’t so terrified, I’d climb him.

  “What do you do?”

  “I own a business,” he says. “Has anyone ever told you you have gorgeous eyes?”

  “I don’t know.” And I don’t. I can barely remember my name right now. Between being scared and looking at the sexiest man I think I’ve ever seen, I’m a mess.
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  “Well, you do.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Ladies and gentlemen, we are beginning our descent into Santa Rosa. We should be on the ground in about fifteen minutes, but it’s going to be bumpy. Seems we have a lot of wind coming in off the ocean. Hang tight, we’ll have you on the ground in just a few minutes.”

  “Oh God.”

  “You’re doing so great,” Mac says, and I can’t help but laugh. “You really are. We’re almost there.”

  I nod and hold his hand tightly as we descend. I hate the way it makes my stomach roll. I’ve never been good at amusement park rides or long road trips.

  Motion sickness is a real thing.

  Finally—finally—we’re on the ground. I’ve never been so happy in my life.

  “You did it. You survived your first plane ride.” Mac smiles proudly, and I smile back.

  “I did it.”

  I’m going to throw up.

  We’re soon parked at the gate, and the doors open. I stand, grab my suitcase, and make a run for the Jetway. I need a bathroom.

  Now.

  I’m sweaty. My heart is pounding. Of course, leave it to me to have a panic attack after the fact.

  Thankfully, there’s a bathroom near the gate. I rush inside, find a stall, and heave until my body aches and I’m drenched in more sweat.

  Sweet baby Jesus, I need to get to the hotel.

  But I survived, and that’s all that matters.

  It’s amazing what a hot shower, a thirty-minute nap, and room service can do.

  A few hours later, I’m feeling much better. Which is good because I have to go down to the welcome party and socialize.

  I have made some friends in the wine business, most of which has been online or over the phone. I’m excited to meet them in person and put some faces with the voices.

  I lean in to apply my lipstick, then grin at my reflection.

  “I rocked that flight.” I snort. “Okay, I survived it, and that’s kind of the same thing.” I shrug and take stock of myself. It’s a vast improvement to when I arrived. I can’t even imagine what poor Mac must have thought of me as I rushed off without even thanking him. I was afraid that if I opened my mouth, I’d just throw up all over him, and that would have been horrific.

  But now my hair is back in place, with big curls and cute pink bunny pins holding it off my face. I’m in a black dress, military style, with chunky pink heels, and I brought my awesome pink patent-leather handbag to match.